


My Side of Paradise

by cosmisce



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Monopoly (Board Game), Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmisce/pseuds/cosmisce
Summary: In which Asahi sees Nishinoya for the first time after their break-up, Daichi and Suga try to get rid of their unwanted houseguests, and Tanaka witnesses the ensuing disaster while handling some issues at home.
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Tanaka Ryuunosuke
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	My Side of Paradise

It is almost dusk by the time Asahi arrives at Daichi’s apartment, hair disengaging from his bun as he struggles to open the door. He is not usually late to game nights. But this time is different, Asahi tells himself — he knows it, Daichi and Suga know it, and their unexpected house guests are sure to know it too.

“Asahi, is that you?” Suga calls from inside, his voice muffled before he opens the door. He is wearing a striped blue shirt and cargo pants, hair ruffled as if he hasn’t combed it since morning.

“Hi, yeah.” Asahi thrusts a bottle of wine into Suga’s hands. “This is for you.” Suga startles, staring at it.

“What is this?”

“Wine.” Asahi runs a hand through his hair. “I just—uh. Nishinoya and Tanaka are here for the night, so I thought it might be nice to—” He is cut off by Suga’s easy laughter as he guides him through the foyer.

“You didn’t need to get us a gift, you big oaf,” Suga says, depositing the wine on the counter. “But thanks. We’ll have it during dinner. I need to check on the food, but everyone else is in the living room. Feel free to join them.” Asahi nods but lingers by the kitchen’s entrance. From here he can already discern the sound of boisterous conversation, a conversation that he dreads interrupting.

But Suga has transitioned to the rice cooker, examining its contents. Asahi forces himself to venture deeper into the house, where the foyer expands into a spacious and bright room furnished by couches, a coffee table, and a flat screen television set near the front.

“Ryuu, stop squirming!” Asahi tenses at the sound of Nishinoya’s voice: loud, clear, and so familiar it aches. He finds him crouched on the couch, pinning Tanaka onto its plump, cotton cushions as he wrestles him for his phone.

“No means no, Yuu!” Tanaka says, then digs his foot into his abdomen. Nishinoya concedes immediately, letting out a sharp cry of pain before clutching his stomach. His phone retrieved, Tanaka places it on a high shelf before he notices Asahi. “Oh. Hey dude, what’s up?”

“Hi,” Asahi says, raising a hand. He notices that Nishinoya lifts his head at once, pain forgotten as he studies Asahi through hooded, unreadable eyes.

“I was starting to wonder where you were,” Daichi says, patting the seat next to him, “considering that you’re normally an hour and a half early for these things.” Asahi obliges, falling next to him onto the couch.

“Yeah, traffic was insane,” Asahi fibs, changing the subject. “So, what game are we—”

“Hi, Asahi,” Nishinoya says, cutting through his words. He is sitting upright, one leg draped over the couch’s arm as he stares at him. Asahi internally flounders for a couple seconds, before he clears his throat.

“Hello, Nishinoya,” Asahi says. “Nice to see you?” He curses to himself at the slight, involuntary intonation of his voice. Nishinoya doesn’t comment on the slippage, and instead nods his head once.

“Yeah,” he replies. “It’s nice.”

Before Asahi can dig himself deeper into the hole he's created for himself, Suga enters the room.

“Dinner’s ready,” he says. “Daichi, Asahi, mind helping me set up?”

“Sure,” Asahi says. He shoots Suga grateful glance before the three of them disappear into the kitchen.

“Asahi, dude, I know that you’re nervous about seeing Nishinoya for the first time since you broke up, but you need to pull yourself together,” Suga says, looking at him sternly. “It’s been three years.”

“Yeah, for all of us. The tension was physically painful,” Daichi says. “Nishinoya doesn’t bite. Or maybe he does, historically, but—you guys are adults, not emotionally unstable teenagers. From what I’ve seen of him today, he’s really chilled out.”

“Yeah, I guess, but—“ Asahi says, remembering in graphic clarity the wrestling match he’d witnessed moments before. “We haven’t spoken since the fight.”

“Well, that’s on you, dude,” Suga says, taste-testing the soup. The kitchen falls silent. The unsaid words swell in Asahi’s throat, devouring him from the inside. 

Suga sighs, abandoning the soup to place a pot in Asahi’s hands. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Asahi. If shit gets out of hand, I’ll step in. And if you’re still uncomfortable after a couple hours, I’ll call it a night.” His eyes are honest, self-assured; Asahi is reminded of the enormous trust he feels for the person standing in front of him. 

“Thank you, Suga. I appreciate it.”

“Bring that to the table, please.”

“Sure.” Asahi turns into the dining room, where Nishinoya and Tanaka are conversing wearing large smiles, their earlier fight forgotten. Folding into himself, Asahi places the pot of rice on the red, floral trivet on the table. 

Nishinoya and Tanaka look up at once.

“Hey,” Tanaka says, again. 

“Hey,” Asahi replies, wasting no time in pivoting to the kitchen. “I should go and help—"

“Don’t worry, Asahi, we can carry out the rest of the dishes,” Daichi says, carrying a pot of stir-fried beef, onions, and bell peppers as he enters the room. “All right, we got some rice, some meat, and some miso soup and tofu.” 

As soon as Suga returns, they settle around the table. Asahi concentrates on his meal as conversation circles around him. 

Daichi looks up from his plate. “Has anyone seen Hinata recently?”

“Yuu and I met him for dinner yesterday,” Tanaka replies. “He’s good. Living the dream, of course.”

“Shouyou is busting his ass preparing for the Olympics!” Nishinoya exclaims, his words muffled by food. He deposits a slice of onion onto Tanaka’s plate. “He says that Kageyama is as demanding as ever of his wing spikers.” His eyes raise to meet Asahi’s. “He certainly was of you, wasn't he, Asahi?”

Asahi startles, a slab of beef catching in his throat. He coughs, reaching for his cup of water and chugging it.

When he catches his breath, everyone is looking at him.

“…Yes.” Asahi says. “He was.” The conversation dies. From his right, he hears Suga stifle a sight of pity; in front of him, Nishinoya’s eyes harden.

“Can you pass the beef, please?” Nishinoya asks, his voice lighter than it should be. Asahi pushes it toward him half-heartedly. 

“Thanks!” Nishinoya dishes out spoonfuls of it onto his plate. The meat and sauce bleed onto the white rice. Asahi had forgotten Nishinoya’s capacity to eat, but the memories bombard him, suddenly: the inordinate restaurant bills. The unwashed dishes. The string of confused waiters who had repeated their order to them, inquiring if they were waiting for someone else. 

“So, Nishinoya,” Suga says, cutting through Asahi’s thoughts. “How long are you staying in Japan?” 

Nishinoya shrugs. “Maybe another couple days. Really depends on this guy.” He places a hand on Tanaka’s shoulder, grinning.

“The three of us were planning a trip to Bermuda this weekend, but Kiyoko has the stomach flu,” Tanaka says.

“Are you sure she’ll be alright at home?” 

Tanaka sighs. “Well, I was supposed to stay at home tonight and look after her, but Yuu said he wouldn’t come without me.” He brings a piece of tofu up to his lips before crying out in pain. He turns to Nishinoya, glaring at him. “What the hell, man?”

“That was a secret!” Tanaka pauses for a moment, and then laughs.

“Consider that your punishment for trying to expose my baby pictures to Daichi.”

Asahi can feel a headache coming on. He had become unused to the Nishinoya and Tanaka’s boundless ardor in the last three years, the volume and vivacity grating against Asahi’s enfeebled social battery. Stealing a glance at Daichi and Suga, he can tell that they can feel it too.

“Does playing Monopoly after this sound alright?” Suga says, his voice thinly veiling his fatigue. “Just let me and Daichi wash the dishes.”

“We can help out, Suga!”

“No!” Suga exclaims vehemently, before he clears his throat. “Thank you for the offer, Nishinoya, but you are our guest. Please make yourself comfortable outside.” His tone permits no room for argument.

* * *

Daichi and Suga escape into the kitchen, exhaling as they hear conversation resume outside. 

“That was endless,” Daichi says, rolling up his sleeves. “Jesus Christ. Remind me to never hang out with Asahi and Nishinoya at the same time ever again.” 

“Hey, at least they’re not eye-fucking across the table anymore.”

“I suppose,” Daichi says, scrubbing at a dish and handing it to Suga to dry. “But even when they were dating, they were still. Waspish and shit. Especially near the end.” 

“It wasn’t pretty,” Suga concurs. The water runs, softening what falls at their feet: memories of Asahi appearing at their door, ruddy-faced and in tears; the signals that Nishinoya wouldn’t recognize from him, the refusals he’d play off as diffidence; the soft, stupefied glances that would break across Asahi’s face, of a devotion that fell short of understanding. 

Their memories were tender upon prodding. Warm to the touch. 

“I don’t want to do this,” Suga says. Daichi looks up at him. 

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to play games tonight,” Suga says. “Really, all I want to do…Daichi, all I want is to be alone with you.” They had both been consumed by their jobs as of late, falling into bed as soon as they came home. This had left little time for conversation, and, of course—

“We can say our pipe burst!” Daichi says, looking proud of himself. “That’s believable, right?” 

“Babe, they’re literally here. They’d know if a pipe had burst,” Suga says. He remains silent for a moment as he pushes a plate into the cupboard, putting pressure on his toes. “I got it. You’re experiencing some gastrointestinal distress.”

“No, nuh-uh. Not again. We’ve used that excuse so many times I’m pretty sure the team suspects that I have a chronic health condition.”

“Alright, fine. One of our family members died? An aunt, perhaps?“

“No, Asahi has been to all our relatives’ places. The news would shatter him.”

“Well, I’m out of ideas,” Suga says, putting his hands up. “Honestly, Asahi has been at our place while we’ve fucked before. He didn’t seem to mind. Would it really be so terrible if—”

“Yes, it would!” Daichi says, convulsing at the thought. “Asahi is one story. Those idiots are another.” Nishinoya and Tanaka’s laughter filters through the kitchen, rattling the dishes. Each droplet of water trembles.

Daichi runs a hand across his face, suddenly appearing incredibly tired in the room’s dim, warm light. Suga places Daichi's hand in his, interlocking their fingers. 

“In that case, dearest,” Suga says. “I guess we’ll need to be terrible hosts.” 

* * *

Asahi feels oddly voyeuristic watching Nishinoya and Tanaka on the couch, their banter loud and fond as they settle, stretched out, on the couch. Nishinoya nestles himself against Tanaka’s chest as he watches a video on his phone. After a moment, his eyes widen and he bursts into laughter.

“That’s hilarious, dude,” Nishinoya says. His smile falls. He drops his head, resting it on Tanaka’s heart. “Where are Daichi and Suga? It’s been half an hour.”

“Uh, in the kitchen. There were a lot of dishes.”

“Yeah, right,” Nishinoya says. His expression is sour, the lines in it deepening. “I bet they’re holding hands and exchanging meaningful glances and shit.” The words could be construed as affectionate teasing if not for the bitterness of Nishinoya’s voice. It discolors each syllable.

Tanaka looks at him guardedly. “Why the resentment?”

“What resentment?”

“The resentment right there.” Tanaka gathers Nishinoya’s face in his hands, pinching it. “Right there in your face. Your ‘I’m secretly mad at my friends for being happy’ face. The one you used when my wife and I, god forbid, kissed at the airport.” 

“I’m not using that face!” Nishinoya says, scrambling to kneel in front of Tanaka. He has a strange expression on his face, more pleading than indignant. “Say that I’m not.”

“Uh, you totally were,” Tanaka says, before he releases a theatrical sigh. “It’s alright, though. I get that you’re—” He stops himself, grinning. “Want me to say it?” 

“Horny,” Nishinoya says, blushing. Tanaka’s grin widens.

“Lonely.”

Asahi catches his breath. Nishinoya stills, terror gripping his features. They run through the sudden coldness of the room; the coldness runs through them. 

“That’s it,” Nishinoya says, his voice a dangerous whisper. A skeleton of itself. The surprise is replaced by a flash of anger, and then a grin. “You must be punished!” Nishinoya pelts what objects he can find at Tanaka, who laughs and shields his face. This is normal, Asahi says to himself. And it is also not. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tanaka says, though he hurls a cushion in Nishinoya’s direction. Asahi stares at the duel in front of him, enthralled, before being surprised by a cushion to the face. He gasps, his face burning — from the pain or the embarrassment, he can’t be certain—and he pries his eyes open to the identify the perpetrator.

Nishinoya still has his arm extended, lips parted in faint surprise before he breathes out a laugh. “Thought you’d catch that.” Asahi doesn’t respond, unable to find the words. The room falls silent, for a moment, before a Japanese pop song cuts through the air. Tanaka grunts, pulling out his phone.

“Oh. It’s the love of my life,” Tanaka says. “Wonder if she’s alright.” He turns from Nishinoya and Asahi, obscuring his expression.

Nishinoya drops the cushion he’s holding.“Go ahead and make sure she’s okay, Ryuu. Asahi and I will be fine.” Tanaka doesn’t respond for a moment, before nodding and standing up.

“Yeah. I’m heading to the spare bedroom,” Tanaka says. “See you later, guys. Play nice.” 

“Wait—“ Asahi begins, holding out a hand. Tanaka doesn’t seem to hear him, already out the door and pressing the phone to his ear. 

It is the first time Asahi speaks to them after dinner.

Even this does not reach them.

* * *

Asahi and Nishinoya sit in silence, neither of them speaking.

Nishinoya has slid unto his belly, eyes glued to the door. His behavior surprises Asahi. Instead of being the center of Nishinoya’s (inexhaustible) attention as he had feared, Nishinoya couldn’t seem to care less about Asahi’s presence. 

Groaning, Nishinoya stuffs his face into a sofa cushion and pulls out his phone. It’s an orange flip phone, the same model he’s had for years. When Asahi had offered to purchase him a smartphone for Christmas four years ago, Nishinoya had declined; he’d never seen the appeal of technology, preferring to call his friends at random hours of the night instead of exploring the expediencies of instant messaging. 

Nishinoya jams the phone buttons, listening to the “I’m sorry, this phone number doesn’t exist” automated message play and play again.

Asahi stiffens at the cacophony. “Nishinoya, could you please—“

“Huh?” Nishinoya turns to him. “What is it, Asahi?”

“Could you please, um,” Asahi starts, the words clogging in his throat. “Stop what you’re—”

“And, hey. Since when am I ‘Nishinoya’ to you?” Nishinoya glares at him. “You haven’t called me by my last name since…” He pauses, before releasing a sharp laugh. “Eight years ago. High school.”

Asahi doesn’t mention that for the past three years, he’s hasn’t called Nishinoya by any name at all.

“What do you want me to say?” Asahi begins. “We’re—”

“We’re done!” Suga calls. 

Nishinoya looks up at him. “Great! Where’s the Monopoly game?” 

“Monopoly?” Suga feigns an expression of mild confusion. “Oh, right. We thought it was getting a little late, so perhaps we could call it a—”

“Sorry, guys!” Tanaka emerges from the spare bedroom. While he first appears a little harried, any hint of it is smoothed out by the time he reaches the couch. “Daichi, Suga. Where’s Monopoly at?” 

“How is Kiyoko?” Nishinoya interrupts, his smile returning at his friend’s reappearance. 

Tanaka grimaces. “Well, she vomited up all the soup I made her, so. Not great.”

“That’s too bad, Tanaka,” Daichi says. “Perhaps you and Nishinoya should head home.”

“No, it’s alright Daichi. She told me to enjoy myself, and that she’d feel worse if I was stressing out about her at home.”

Daichi and Suga exchange a glance before Daichi forces a smile.

“Alright then,” Daichi says. “I’ll go get the game tin.” 

The first half-hour of the game is unexceptional. Suga pulls into the lead from the start, purchasing the majority of the railroads, but toward the end of the hour Asahi manages to close the gap through his strategic property purchases. 

The distraction is nice. Daichi and Suga had noticed early in their high school careers that games put Asahi at ease, and set up regular game nights after weekend practices for the three of them to shed the stressors of their adolescence.

But Nishinoya is here. Around him, nothing can stay the same: adventures become interesting again, surprises romantic. Games personal.

“Goddamn it.”

Nishinoya lands on Boardwalk. There is a collective hiss of sympathy.

“That is eight thousand dollars, Nishinoya,” Suga says. “There are four hotels, and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Nishinoya says, peering at his thin pile of money. Gathering all of it into his hands. “Damn. And I was so close to Go too.” He hands the money to Suga. “So, what do I do? What type of bankruptcy protection policy does this game use?” Suga eyes him in confusion.

“What do you mean? You’re out.”

“What do you mean I’m out?”

“You can’t play anymore,” Suga specifies. “Game Over.” He hands the money to Asahi. “Your tribute, my liege.”

“Thank you, Suga,” Asahi replies, siphoning it to his money reserve. For a moment he revels in the windfall, before he notices Nishinoya’s expression.

“Game Over?” Nishinoya repeats. “I gave all my hard-earned money to _Asahi?”_ His stunned expression soon morphs into anger. “No. I refuse.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game,” Daichi says, rolling the dice. “Well it’s my turn.” 

“Be careful, Daichi. One unfortunate roll, and you could be finished.”

“Be careful or don’t be careful, but for the love of God, hurry it up,” Tanaka says from the corner. He’d lost the game easily, partly due to his inexperience, partly due to his refusal to commit to a strategy. “I want to watch an episode of _Fullmetal Alchemist_ later.”

“Alright, alright,” Daichi snips. The die lands on three. “Damn it. Alright Suga, here’s some money for—”

“I gave you all I had.” Nishinoya’s voice cuts through the air, loud and clear and demanding attention. The room is silent.

Finally, Tanaka clears his throat. “Are we still talking about Monopoly, or…”

“What do you want, Nishinoya?” Asahi asks. He barely registers himself saying it. He turns to meet Nishinoya in the eyes. Fearless.

“Do you want a redo? To continue from the last save point, as if this never happened? You can pretend, Nishinoya, that it didn’t. I won’t stop you. But it won’t matter, in the end: you’ll fuck yourself over every time. Because you don’t learn, and you won’t change.”

Asahi can hear only the hum of the air conditioner as Nishinoya approaches him, steps clipped and echoing as he closes the distance between them. Their chests almost touch. For the first time, Asahi concedes nothing.

“I’m going outside,” Nishinoya says. Before anyone can stop him, he is out the door. 

* * *

The night is a peach pit. Catching in Asahi’s throat. Walking in Nishinoya’s shadow, he’s bathed in the moonlight. 

Nishinoya eventually finds a suitable bench to sit on. It is in the playground near their old high school, hidden in the darkened, muddy corner where Asahi said was too dangerous during the night. 

But they are older, now. Nothing is dangerous anymore.

“Sit,” Nishinoya says. Asahi does. 

Observing him, Asahi is surprised to find his own gaze hungry, searching. Nishinoya’s shoulders and arms seem more toned from the manual labor he’d done to finance his travels. Adventure scratches his arms. Starves him. 

For a moment, Asahi wonders when it all fell apart. Their relationship was one of Nishinoya’s soda popsicles, glistening and bright—and then it started melting, until it wasn’t recognizable to either of them anymore. 

It was the kisses Nishinoya would sink into Asahi’s lips in public, climbing onto the tips of his toes and wrapping arms around his waist. It was the unfinished applications on the coffee table, the internships Asahi wouldn’t get and the jobs he wasn’t qualified for. It was the hidden restlessness that Nishinoya brought home; it was the sigh of relief that Asahi released when he left. It was the spam of text messages, the fumbled words. 

“Do you love me?” Asahi had asked years ago, sitting here on this bench. They had bought root beer floats at the neighborhood’s ice cream parlor. Nishinoya had looked up at him, eyes sharp and curious. 

“What do you mean?” he’d asked. “I’m dating you.” 

“But do you love me?” 

“If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t be here, silly.”

Asahi stared into his root beer float. “Then why can’t you say it?” 

“You want me to?” Nishinoya asked. He placed his cup on the ground and then straddled Asahi’s lap. Placing his forehead against his. “Fine…yeah. Yeah, of course. Do you love me?” 

Asahi’s eyes widened. “Of course, Nishinoya. I l—” He let out a strangled sound. He swallowed, his mouth watering. He suddenly felt incredibly ill. “I lo—” His stomach lurched, and he pushed Nishinoya aside to vomit. 

That was a year before they broke up, and the last time they’d come here.

It was the string of text messages that Asahi received throughout the day from him, startling him each time his phone rang. It was Asahi’s desire to remain in Miyagi. 

And those were the little things.

“Pretty moon,” Nishinoya says, interrupting Asahi’s thoughts. His head is tilted up, observing the darkened sky above them. “Remember when we used to stargaze together?”

Asahi does remember this, in fact. He doesn’t remember the constellation’s names, but he remembers Nishinoya’s affectionate terms for them: butcher knife. House, as depicted by a three-year-old. Falling kite. 

“The sky is brighter than it was last time we were here.”

Nishinoya looks at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Asahi replies. “Light pollution, I’m guessing.”

“Strange. Even though the sky is brighter, I can’t see the stars as clearly anymore.”

Asahi feels his chest tighten. 

“We need to talk, Nishinoya,” Asahi says. He sees Nishinoya tense at the shoulders.

“What about?” 

“About the way we left things.”

“Asahi, I…” Nishinoya doesn’t look at him when he says it. “I don’t really know what else there is to say.” It is a small rejection—so small, it shouldn’t be noticeable—but it’s the first time Nishinoya has rejected him before. 

Asahi remains perfectly still. 

“Why are you here, then?” Asahi asks. “You obviously wanted me to follow you. Are you trying to make me feel bad?” 

“Hey, don’t blame your constant feelings of guilt on me,” Nishinoya says, “That’s on you, dude.”

Asahi smarts at the comment, the old rage bubbling at the pit of his stomach. “Guilt is good for you.” 

Nishinoya laughs. “Sure.”

“I mean it,” Asahi says. “Guilt is the reason we don’t murder one another all the time.”

Nishinoya looks at the ground, face set in hard lines. “Life is too short for guilt.”

“Of course you’d say that, Nishinoya.” Asahi lets out a harsh breath. It comes out as a ripple of mist, holding for a couple seconds and then fading languidly in the night air. Not for the first time, Nishinoya seems unreachable to him. Somewhere above, apart. 

“Right, because I’m so _solipsistic_ , your word,” Nishinoya retorts. “Or, what was your favorite one? _Controlling.”_

Asahi’s stomach lurches. He glances at him. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do,” Nishinoya replies. Despite his gruff voice, his expression softens. “I remember everything.” 

The world spins as he says it. Asahi feels twenty again: insecure, aimless, and endlessly loved. 

Standing up from the bench, Nishinoya paces in front of it. The dark expression has yielded to his usual self-assured disposition, a smile on his face. 

“But it’s alright,” Nishinoya says. “Everything is alright!” A couple of leaves shudder on the trees. “We’re older, wiser. And we’re here.” Asahi’s eyes widen.

“No, no, no…Nishinoya, that’s not what I meant…”

“I don’t want to _date again,_ geez,” Nishinoya says, too severely. Asahi doesn’t argue, but still eyes him as if he's about to pounce. “Just. Be friends.” 

_Friends._ Asahi considers it. It could be similar to what they had in Asai’s third year of high school—but even then their relationship was unconventional, existing in the nameless space separating respect and infatuation. Infatuation and obsession. 

“I’m not so sure, Nishinoya,” Asahi says. “It’s not—"

“Listen,” Nishinoya says, interrupting him as he slides closer on the bench. Asahi doesn't miss the catch in his voice. “I know that I can be controlling and high-maintenance and pushy, but underneath all that, deep down, I love you.” He looks Asahi in the eye. “I love you, Asahi. What more do you want from me?” A pause. “What more is there to give?” 

And here it was, the force that had once fueled their relationship: the blinding, inexhaustible engine of Nishinoya's love. 

“I need to move on,” Asahi says. “Hell, I’ve _already_ moved on, Nishinoya. I can’t.” 

“You _can._ ”

“No,” Asahi says. “No. Stop it. You’re…Yuu, you’re killing me here.”

The omission is enough to still them. It dries Nishinoya’s tears. It parches Asahi’s throat.

“Beside, you don’t even want this, really,” Asahi says.

Nishinoya glares at him. “Don’t tell me what I want.” 

“Yuu…”

“I don’t get it!” Nishinoya says. “I play nice, I try to converse over dinner. I let you ignore my phone calls for three years. I…” his voice trembles, before hardening again. “I called you beautiful. This is what I can give you, Asahi. It’s not perfect, but it’s real.” 

Asahi says nothing as Nishinoya sits on the bench again, putting his head in his hands. 

“But if you don’t want it, then fine. Your loss. I give up.” 

* * *

They return to the apartment in silence.

Nishinoya finds Daichi, Suga, and Tanaka conversing in the kitchen. Tanaka comes to attention as soon as he notices them.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Tanaka says, “you’re both here.” He turns to Nishinoya. “Dude. I thought you murdered Asahi.”

Nishinoya chuckles, the sound brittle. “Of course not, man. You know I’d call you to hide the body.” He clears his throat. “Daichi, Suga. Sorry to bail, but I’m exhausted. Ryuu and I are heading out.” 

Asahi steps out from behind him. “Me too, sorry.”

Nishinoya swears he catches Daichi’s face brighten. He banishes the thought as soon as it comes. 

“That’s really too bad,” Suga sighs, before clapping his hands. “Well, I’ll get your coats. Don’t worry about cleaning up.”

“Oh, uh, are you su—” Nishinoya finds his hands juggling his coat and the phone he’d carelessly left on the couch as Tanaka puts on his beanie and scarf. He looks around for Daichi, to discover that he’s disappeared.

“No worries at all,” Suga says in a rushed voice. He does a cursory glance of the apartment before turning to them. “Well. You can let yourselves out.” He heads into the hall, turning off the foyer light as he disappears into the bedroom. “Nice seeing you!”

Before any of them can respond, the bedroom door is shut.

“Well, that was weird,” Tanaka says. He opens the door. “After you, Yuu. Asahi.” Nishinoya steps out first, not blind to the concerned glance that Tanaka sends him. He grins, hoping to assuage some of his suspicions. 

“Come on,” Nishinoya says, pulling on Ryuu’s hand. “Race you to the street!” He opens the stairwell door and sprints inside, already tackling the stairs. 

“Wait, wha—” Ryuu says from somewhere behind him, before he groans. “Alright, alright, I’m coming. Nice seeing you, Asahi! We should do this again!” Nishinoya hears the clatter of footsteps behind him before he’s lifted up by strong arms. He lets out a startled noise, thrashing his limbs.

“You may have the rest of them fooled,” Ryuu whispers into his ear, his voice low and quiet. “But I know exactly what you’re doing.” 

Nishinoya goes limp. For a moment, no one speaks.

“Let me go, Ryuu.”

Tanaka lets him go. They head to the ground floor, without any more random lift-ups or questions. 

“What did you even talk about with Asahi, to get you so upset?” Tanaka asks, ten minutes into heading home. Nishinoya lets out a harsh breath.

“The bastard won’t even be my friend!” Nishinoya says. Whining, as he only does in front of Tanaka.

“Well, that _is_ his choice, Yuu,” Tanaka reminds him. Nishinoya grimaces—marriage has made Tanaka, of all cruelties, sensible—and he runs a hand through his hair. 

“Of course, of course,” Nishinoya says. “Yeah. Sure.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I am.”

“It’s not a good idea for you to be around him too much, in any case,” Tanaka says. “You’re never yourself when you’re around him. All...sullen and shit.” 

“What do you mean, sullen?” 

“I mean you would call me, at three o’ clock in the morning, crying your eyes out, and ask me if you’re controlling. Asahi is the only one who can get you to reflect on such shit as the past.” 

“Oh.” Nishinoya’s stomach feels strange.

“And let me remind you, it’s been _three years,”_ Tanaka continues, “and you’re still so off, dude. You hate it when people are happy in relationships. You seem...shit, I can’t even say it.” He rubs his eyes. “You seem so tired of yourself. It scares me.” He pauses on the street. Nishinoya stops beside him.

_“Ryuu.”_

“You need closure, man,” Tanaka says. “Isn’t that what we came for?” 

“I tried. I asked him if he wants to be friends, he said no. I didn’t even get to the Christmas Card mailing list.”

Tanaka laughs. He sounds exhausted. “What the hell, Yuu?” 

Nishinoya looks at him. “What?” 

“In what world is that closure?” 

Tanaka’s words hit him, suddenly. Too soon. Nishinoya inhales the crisp night air, his entire body trembling.

“I need to go.”

Tanaka startles. “Go whe—”

“I’ll meet you at home, Ryuu! Bye!” Nishinoya says, and sprints off in the opposite direction. 

* * *

Asahi hears footsteps behind him.

He recognizes the cadence of the steps immediately. It’s ingrained somewhere in his bones. 

“Yuu?” Asahi asks, turning to him. Nishinoya has his hands on his knees, panting, before he looks up at him. 

His hair is wilted. His face is serious his eyes glint his chest spasms

“I’m sorry,” Nishinoya says. His face is tight and trembling, before it falls apart. He begins to cry. 

“Oh,” Asahi says. He reaches for him. “Oh, Yuu.”

Nishinoya lets Asahi hold him. 

Asahi loosens his grip on him after a while, laughing. “God, Nishinoya, you’re so cold. You should invest in some warmer coats.” 

Nishinoya scrubs at his face.

“Here, come on,” Asahi says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll prepare some tea for us at home.”

* * *

Tanaka opens the door. “I’m home!”

“Welcome home!” a voice calls from the kitchen. Tanaka finds Kiyoko heating up soup on the stove, wearing a green, floral dress and her hair in a bun. 

“Hey,” she greets him, turning to him as he approaches her.

“Hey,” he says. He presses a kiss to her temple and wraps his arms around her waist. “What are you doing out of bed? Here, I’ll dish that out for you.” Kiyoko hums, not abandoning her position at the stove. 

“I needed to occupy myself,” she replies. “Where’s Yuu?” 

“He’s off somewhere. He’ll be home in a couple minutes.”

“Hm.” 

Tanaka notices her reticence immediately, pulling from her. “Hey. You alright?” 

She pauses. Her hands come to rest on his. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says. “I told you I would be while you were gone.” 

“I’m still driving you to the doctor in the morning, no buts.” 

“Well, about that.” Kiyoko turns to him, pushing herself from the stove. Her face is soft in the kitchen’s half-light. “I’m pregnant.” 

Tanaka is silent for a moment, before he realizes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you liked this please feel free to leave a kudos or COMMENT :) the latter would REALLY make my day, especially because this fic (as all my fics do) took me really long to write. Also, happy Haikyuu Season 4.5 release day <3


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